


My Arms About You, Those Charms About You

by allierrachelle



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9062152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allierrachelle/pseuds/allierrachelle
Summary: A treaty, a celebratory ball, a good brother, a couple of smitten Princes, and a dance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It may sound like I'm bad at summaries, but that is very truly all this is about.
> 
> This is a CaPri Secret Santa gift for tumblr user goddammitsky! I hope you like it!

The new treaty had been signed on first day of winter. It was a large ordeal, unnecessarily so, in Laurent’s opinion. It had been in the works for months, and when the time came, his father, brother, and the entirety of the royal council made a quick but conspicuous campaign to the boarder, all to sign a paper. Laurent had stayed in Vere. Not out of hostility towards Akielos; this treaty was of a symbolic nature more than a political one. Relations between Akielos and Vere had been increasingly peaceful in recent years - the treaty was hardly more than a testament to that. He simply did not want to go.

Just as now, he had no desire to attend the subsequent ball that had the palace in a flurry of excited preparation. He was unsure why signing a treaty necessitated this, but he was required to attend.

“I hate these things,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, but his brother responded anyway as he finished up the braid that he had pulled down Laurent’s neck.

“It is only a celebration, Laurent. You are only expected to make an appearance, but you do not need to stay longer than necessary." 

"I’ll hold you to that when you inevitably try to stop me from leaving.” That was met with a chuckle and a light tug on Laurent's hair.

“You know me too well, little bother.” Auguste fiddled with a few stray strands of the braid and tucked them into place before stepping back to take his brother’s arm. “Shall we?”

The ballroom was elaborately decorated for the occasion, as if the palace architecture wasn’t ornate enough on its own. Large swathes of red and gold silk hung from the ceiling; the colors donned by Akielon royalty. Council members and both Veretian and Akielon soldiers flooded the room, making the grandiose, high-ceilinged space feel small and uncomfortably warm, despite the snowfall that was visible through the large windows around the room.

They entered with their father, and upon their arrival, the room fell silent as everyone folded in on themselves in respect. The King stepped forward to address his people and his allies. Laurent stood straight and still beside Auguste as their father rose to speak, a comfortable but respectful distance behind him. It was a long-winded political address about brotherhood and tolerance and thriving in an era of peace. It was boring. And only half sincere; the greatest benefit of the treaty was increased trade.

Regardless, it was met with cheers from some and tears from others. Laurent didn’t hear most of it, as he was too busy eyeing a plate of powdery sweetmeats from across the room.

However, it quickly became less boring than he anticipated. Halfway through the speech, Auguste leaned immeasurably closer to Laurent, and in what was hardly even a whisper under his breath, said, “Don’t look now, but Prince Damianos is staring at you.”

Laurent jerked his head toward his brother before he could stop himself. Auguste kept his eyes fixed on his father, politely applauding when the rest of the room did. 

“To your left.” Auguste’s lips hardly moved.

Slowly, trying to avoid drawing attention to himself, Laurent shifted his weight to the left. When his eyes followed, sure enough, he met Damianos’ gaze. Shockingly, the Akielon Prince did not pull away as a commoner would, or even a royal visitor with common sense. 

He had clearly grown since his last visit. He no longer looked like a rowdy young prince, but like a man, soon to be a King. His chin was covered with short, dark stubble that wasn’t there before, sculpting the line of his jaw. He held himself with an effortless confidence, as though while his body matured, he himself matured right along with it. And his body did undoubtedly mature. He was never skinny, but now he looked downright large. The white fabric of his clothing hardly covered his muscled chest or legs, and didn't at all cover his arms. He seemed unfazed by the large amount of skin he showed. 

None of these things were bad - just noticeable. In fact, he had aged impeccably well. 

Laurent smiled cordially, if not a little uneasily, and slowly looked back to his father. They had met only once before when Damianos stayed a week with his father and brother. Laurent was only 13 at the time - Damianos was 18 and spent the majority of his visit either dueling Veretian soldiers, chasing his brother around, or eating. 

Laurent - though he would fiercely deny it when Auguste brought it up - spent most of the that time watching Damianos duel and run and eat.

It was an adolescent crush that faded with time, and nothing more. Damianos ignored him most of the time, which was to be expected. He was 18 and slightly unruly. He simply had no interest in spending time with a 13 year old princeling. Laurent could count on one hand the number of times they had spoken then. Now, in the middle of a formal ball, he could feel the Akielon's eyes boring into him. It was brave, that was certain. It took a particular amount of gall to stare at the prince of a foreign country in his own palace with no shame or effort at subtlety. It was not going unnoticed either, if Auguste's reaction was anything to go by.

Laurent murmured back to his brother, "Maybe he's staring at father."

Auguste just smirked, the cocky kind of smirk that only a brother can do. "He most certainly is not."

When Laurent curiously cast another glance to his side, Damianos met his gaze once again, and this time, he winked.

Laurent immediately jerked his head away, Laurent was suddenly hardly aware of the cheers around him, the entire room lifting glasses with a cheer of, “To peace!” The small group of musicians in the corner of the room returned to their instruments, again filling the room with music, and the crowd’s conversation quickly drowned out what had been a previously respectful silence. 

In the middle of the commotion, Laurent just stood still, letting his cheeks burn a violent shade of red.

“You have about 10 seconds to snap out of that blush because he’s headed this way,” Auguste said, passing Laurent with a supportive hand on his shoulder. The 'I told you so' in his tone was implicit but unmistakably there.

“Wait, Auguste –” His brother didn’t turn around, and Laurent simply stared in shock as Auguste immediately struck up conversation with an Akielon soldier. 

“Your Highness.” It came from behind him. He deliberately didn’t turn around to face the man who said it, instead staring after his brother, looking as though he was shooting daggers at him with his gaze. Auguste ignored him.

“Damianos,” he forced out after a long moment.

"How did you know?” his voice was deep and inflected by a smile. He was speaking near accent-less Veretian, much to Laurent's dismay. When Laurent mustered up the courage to turn around, he wished he hadn’t. He had to crane his neck up to look at Damianos' face property, which made him feel less in control than he already did.

“Lucky guess.”

Damianos beamed. It touched his eyes when he did so, making them appear brighter than their usual deep brown. Despite the fact that he stood a head taller than Laurent and looked like he could easily throw a man over his shoulder, Damianos had a surprisingly gentle smile. He looked kind when speaking to people, and acted it as well. Laurent respected him for that.

"You have grown," Damianos said.

Laurent laughed at that, to his surprise and Damianos' eyes got a little brighter. "You're one to talk."

Damianos hummed, sounding almost appreciative, and noted, "Fair. You've still got quite the tongue on you, though." It was an inappropriate thing to say to a Prince. Kind, he may have been; tactful, he was not.

"Yes, fortunately, they haven't cut it out quite yet."

"Yet." Equally inappropriate. Laurent found himself smirking regardless. 

"I'm sure the time will come," Laurent conceded. "I'll write word to you when it happens, I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear it."

"Hardly," said Damianos. "I like having someone willing to talk back to me. I get tired of formalities."

Laurent hummed in agreement, popping another sweetmeat into his mouth. If there was anything in this world he was tired of, it was formalities. Like this ball, for example. 

"Auguste thrives on them," Laurent said. "It's nice for me, because it means I don't have to."

"These are fun, though." Damianos gestured around him.

Laurent scoffed, which was perhaps a little rude. He did it anyway. "Political balls are fun to you?"

"Parties are fun to me," Damianos corrected.

Laurent gestured increduously around the room full of people eating and drinking and discussing political affairs and court gossip. "This is hardly a party."

"It could be, if you're willing to make it one."

"How exactly would you propose I do that?" Laurent challenged. 

Damianos replied simply, "You could dance with me." And then he bent forward and placed a kiss on Laurent's knuckles. 

It was surprising to suddenly feel 13 again, shy and awkward. Social ineptitude was not Laurent's lifetime affiliation, simply because he had grown out of it. But as he felt the blood creeping into his hands, the warmth that spread from Damianos' lips on his fingers and up his arm into his chest, he found himself at a loss for words.

Laurent pulled his hand back as if he had been burned. "I don't dance." Damianos furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Rejection. "I need to go...speak with someone."

With that, he gave small nod of the head, and turned quickly on his heels.

He didn't know where to go, really. He couldn't leave the ballroom, so he just walked to the opposite end, listening to his instincts the best they could as they told him to flee.

Damianos asked him to dance. At 13, he would have cried. At 20, he might still.

Laurent caught sight of his brother, laughing and drinking wine with a group of soldiers. He was the only person that he could talk to about the uncomfortable fluttering in his chest. 

He approached the group quickly and tugged gently on his brother's arm as soon as he was close enough. 

"Laurent?" 

Laurent just tugged again. Auguste, confused, excused himself from the conversation. Laurent continued to drag them a safe distance away from other people before he finally let go of his brother's arm."

"I need your help."

“With what, exactly?" Auguste asked with furrowed brows. "Acquiring social skills? That was incredibly rude of you, Laurent -- ” 

“I –” Laurent cut his brother off. He could be lectured later. He paused for a moment, considering the best way to put his thoughts into words. “Made a mistake.”

“How so?” 

“I think I have offended Damianos. It was an accident, mostly.”

Dread immediately overtook Auguste’s features. “Mostly? Is he angry?” 

“He’s…” Laurent took a glance back to where Damianos now stood with one of his soldiers, staring into a glass of wine. “Sulking.”

“Laurent, what did you say to him?”

“Nothing!” Partially true. “He asked me to dance with him and I panicked, declined, and left. There was very little room for conservation.”

“You turned down the Prince of Akielos for a dance?” As quickly as it came, the dread on Auguste’s face vanished, replaced by a knowing smirk. Laurent would have sighed if he didn’t feel that it would probably worsen the teasing he knew he was about to endure. “Laurent,” Auguste said with a grin growing brighter on his face with each passing second. “Do you want to dance with him?”

“I don’t know.” He thought about it for a moment. “Maybe.” After another moment, “A little.”

“Then what are you doing over here talking to me? Go make it up to him.” Auguste placed an encouraging hand on the small of Laurent’s back, pushing him slightly towards Damianos. 

“No!” Laurent quickly whirled around to stop him, grabbing his brother by the forearm to stop him from pushing him another step. “No, no. I can’t, I don’t know how.”

Auguste laughed and Laurent let out a sigh as he felt blood flooding his cheeks. He fixed his eyes on the ground. He couldn’t blame Auguste for laughing at him; this was an absurd problem to have.

“Say, ‘Damianos, I am sorry for having offended you. I would be pleased to share a dance with –’”

“I meant I don’t know how to dance,” Laurent mumbled, his eyes locked on his own boots as he tried to will-away the blush from his face. It wouldn’t work; it never did.

“Then I’m sure the experience will be quite instructive for you.” Auguste quickly rustled a hand on the top of Laurent’s head and turned to leave, to return back to charming guests left and right, leaving his brother to solve his own problems.

“Auguste –”

“Good luck, little brother!” Auguste called over his shoulder, raising the drink in his hand as if in supportive, brotherly camaraderie.  
Laurent stood alone, abandoned by the only person in the palace he could turn to for advice. 

_Go make it up to him._

Laurent shot another glance at Damianos who looked as if he had just received the worst news possible. He was actively ignoring the man talking to him, a high ranked soldier from his guard, probably a friend trying to cheer up his King. A pang of guilt twisted through Laurent’s gut.

Fine. He was a well-read, mature young adult, the second in line for the throne of an entire country. Certainly he could ask someone to dance. And then, after officially making his appearance, he could slip out the door and retire back to his bed, putting the whole night behind him.

It was with this in mind that he straightened his back and made his way into the corner of the room. Laurent excused the Akielon soldier by Damianos’ side with a mere glace.

“Did you know I used to sneak sweetmeats into my chambers when I was upset?” Laurent said, joining Damianos near the table of hor d'oeuvres, picking up the small candied treats from the table. Small talk seemed to be the simplest way to do this.

He kept his gaze on the food in front of him but could still see Damianos lift his head up in shock. He was silent for a long moment; Laurent could hear his pulse in his ears. He kept talking just to fill the silence. “My father had to start keeping guards by the kitchens to turn me away. I just started sending my own guards to get them for me. Someone must have told my father because my guards were then banned from the kitchens as well.”

“You don’t seem the type to enjoy sweets.” He said no more.

“Yes, well. You don’t seem the type to brood in a corner, and yet here we find ourselves,” Laurent said, deliberately popping a small treat into his mouth. He was shocked at the comfort he found in perhaps stepping out of bounds, poking fun at the guest of honor, but found himself doing it regardless. Sharp words helped him to ignore the painful speed of his heart.

“I am not, typically.” 

“Then why are you tonight?”

Damianos looked Laurent over slowly, deliberately. Laurent immediately went back to a bright shade of pink. “I asked someone to dance and they rejected me.”

Laurent purposefully looked Damianos over with pursed lips. “You do not handle rejection well.”

Damianos laughed at that, bright and genuine. It seemed to chase away the awkward, tense air between them, and Laurent couldn’t help but to smile in return. Despite the cool air blowing slightly into the ballroom through a close open window, Laurent felt a spreading warmth in his limbs.

“I am a Crowned Prince, of course I don’t.” He paused before speaking again, testing the waters. “Especially when it comes from beautiful people.”

Laurent’s cheeks burned with an unfamiliar intensity. He was positive that Damianos could tell, which simply made matters worse. He tried not to think of Auguste, no doubt shooting glances at this exchange from across the room. He straightened his back. 

“Well, where is the offender? I will have them thrown out.”

“That probably won’t be necessary," Damianos replied with a laugh.

“I disagree. You are our guest of honor of this ball.”

“Well, he is the host of it.”

It was strange for Laurent to feign ignorance but he persisted. He wanted to hear the words come out of Damianos' mouth: _you personally rejected me and it hurt._

“You were rejected by the King?” 

Damianos laughed again and gave a quick eye roll. How easily they crossed boundaries of formalities. Laurent found himself forgetting all too easily that he was speaking to a Prince. “Different host.”

“I see,” Laurent said, nodding understandingly. “Well. If you insist that he should stay, could he at least…” Laurent started, pausing to collect himself, but the longer he waited the harder it became to force the words out. “Could he make it up to you?” It came out rushed.

Laurent quickly stuck his hand out; an offering. He adamantly did not look Daminaos in the eye, instead focusing on his own outstretched hand. He watched silently as a larger, darker hand slipped easily into his.

“He could.” 

Laurent finally glanced up to meet Damianos’ gaze. His eyes were dark brown and impossibly bright. His eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled. They were close enough that Laurent could make out every warm detail of his face. He could smell his soaps and hear his breathing. They were still hand in hand. 

In this proximity, his confession slipped out of him in a simple, quiet admission, accompanied by an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know how to dance.”

Realization seemed to dawn on the Akielon Prince, his mouth falling open with a slight nod. He grinned. “You are charming, Laurent of Vere.”

That earned him another blush. This was a bad idea. “You are forthright, Damianos of Akielos.”

“I am,” he agreed simply and then Laurent was being gently pulled away from the corner of the room. Other guests in the room watched with interest as the Princes of two former enemy countries walked silently into the middle of the room, their hands linked together. He could see people staring, but the bashfulness he felt from their gaze was nothing compared to the effect of the heavy stare of the man in front of him.

“First, place your hands here,” Damianos instructed when they stopped, guiding Laurent’s hand to his shoulder. His skin there was bare due to the chiton, and it was warm and smooth and just as strong as it looked. Laurent felt a hand on his back, slowly and carefully pulling him slightly closer. 

“Now when I step forward, you will step back.” The instruction brought Laurent’s attention reeling away from the hand he had curled around the muscle of Damianos’ shoulder, and instead towards his feet. As promised, Damianos took a slight step forward, and Laurent took a slight step back. 

“Good, now to the side.”

As Damianos guided him to the side, the pressure on Laurent’s back changed, pulling them to the right together. 

“And back towards me.” This time, Damianos pulled toward himself, bringing Laurent once again slightly closer to his body. He could feel the heat of his chest. Laurent wondered absurdly if Damianos could hear his heart or if it was loud to him alone. He was faintly aware of the pressure of a hand still on his back. He felt slightly out of his depths at the amount of physical contact between them.

Auguste’s words echoed in his mind: _it will be quite an informative experience for you._

"Laurent?"

Laurent snapped his head up to see Damianos' worried expression. 

"You stopped moving," Damianos said.

"I told you I couldn't dance," Laurent replied. He tried to play it off with a laugh, keeping his eyes on the floor in embarrassment. This was going to be harder than he expected. Damianos was silent for a moment, but he didn't move.

“Alright, well, how about this?” Without warning, Laurent found himself lifted off the ground entirely, only for a moment, before he was set back down, once again closer to Damianos - now, standing on the Akielon's feet. 

Laurent pushed back slightly, bewildered. "Stop, Damen, I don’t want to hurt you -"

"Damen?” Damianos repeated, his eyebrows raised, a stupid grin spreading across his face. That was the only response that he received, accompanied by a raised brow. He was still on Damianos’ toes, held there firmly by the arm around his waist. It took Laurent a moment to process what he had said. 

_Damen._

“I -" Laurent sputtered, mortified, but came up with nothing to say. "It slipped out. Sorry, I didn’t mean -”

“I like it.” 

Before Laurent could offer any more objections, they were moving. They were slight movements, so as not to redistribute too much weight and crush Damianos' toes. Laurent realized after a stupidly long moment that his mouth was open slightly in shock and quickly closed them. He was probably equally as red as the silk that hung low above their heads.

“Does this mean I can call you by a nickname as well?" Damen asked.

"Absolutely not," Laurent said. Even as he said it, Laurent's mind ran through the possibilities. All he could come up with were terms of endearment.

"That's unfair. You just called me Damen."

"That's different," Laurent started to justify himself before realizing he couldn't. "Your brother used to call you that." It was the best explanation he could offer.

"Yes, quite a few people call me that. Friends, mostly."

"Are we not friends?"

Damen held Laurent steady against his torso, making it easier to keep most of Laurent’s weight off of his own toes. With their close proximity, Laurent's pulse became increasingly rapid as he realized he could feel Damen’s breath. Underneath him, he could feel the subtle slide of muscle with every step that was taken. This was somehow worse than trying to step on his own.

"I suppose we are." Damen pulled Laurent closer as he said it, if that was even possible.

Laurent, eager to drop the subject, said nothing in return. For a long while, they remained just like that, until Laurent's shock from being picked up had dissipated. Together, they moved in silence. It was slightly overwhelming, though Laurent had to do very little. Damen was doing enough work for the both of them.

“It is unfair that we met at a ball; this is not my greatest strength,” Laurent eventually said honestly, staring at Damen’s shoulder; it was easier than his eyes.

Damen started to slide his fingers subtly across Laurent’s back, small back and forth movements that were not done to guide them. “I have heard you are quite the talented rider.”

“I am.”

“I’m in Arles for a few days more, at least," Damen said simply.

“You are.” Laurent said no more. He wasn't entirely sure where this was leading.

“If you'll allow me to, I would very much like to accompany you on a ride." Laurent let out a breathy sigh at that. Damen continued with a chuckle, "Or a race, if that's what you'd prefer. I'd like to see if you're as good as I've heard you are."

"Are you asking for a challenge?"

"I am asking for your time."

They had stopped moving. When Laurent looked back at Damen, his mind went blank. He couldn't think. His eyes drank in the look on Damen's face; hopeful and tentative but perfectly genuine. He, of course, was smiling. In a brief lapse of judgement, Laurent briefly wondered what it would feel like to press his lips against his smile, how the soft skin and coarse hair would – 

“May I cut in?” 

Laurent yanked his gaze away to see his brother, smirking, extending his hand out towards them. Damianos gently set Laurent on the floor again, giving Auguste a polite bow "He’s all yours, your Highness.“ He gave a similar bow to Laurent, and then walked away. Before he could protest, Auguste had his arm on Laurent's back, moving him to the music yet again.

"Damianos is an abysmal teacher. You’re still horrible at this.”

Laurent said nothing, steeling his feet to the floor, causing Auguste to stop as well. 

“What was that for?” he deadpanned.

“The interjection? The entire ballroom was about to witness you kiss Damianos," he stated, as though it was obvious. 

Laurent's lips pursed as he crossed his arms, removing contact from Auguste entirely. “I was not about to –”

“You’re welcome.”

Laurent was not a violent person but he had half a mind to smack his brother upside the head. "I have nothing to thank you for."

He turned around quickly, scanning the room to find the man he had been so rudely pried away from. Auguste grabbed his arm before he left.

"You have my blessing, if you want it."

Laurent pried his arm away and walked off, almost before Auguste could finish his sentence. "I don't."

The sound of his brother's laughter followed him. 

It was some time before Laurent could catch Damen's attention again. One person after another bowed and addressed him as he walked the length of the room, and when Laurent wasn't being pulled away to discuss his opinions on cloth trade, Damen was occupied in conversation. Already he had been at this ball far longer than he wanted to be, and he wasn't even spending it the way he wanted to.

When Laurent finally saw Damen walk out onto the balcony alone, he immediately dismissed himself, leaving behind some new Patran ambassador he had never met before. If word of that got back to his father, he would receive an instant lecture about the responsibilities of being a Prince. He didn't care.

When he walked outside, he paused for a moment to watch the way the dark curls moved in the wind, the way the white of Damen's chiton stood in contrast with the dark nightfall around them. Slowly, and quietly, he stepped forward and stood with the Akielon Prince, probably closer than strictly. necessary.

"Auguste called your teaching abysmal.”

Damen turned and smiled. “He's probably right about that,” Damen placed an arm on the small of Laurent's back - not to lead him into a dance, but just as somewhere to rest his hand. “Well, I wouldn’t want to pass you off to someone before you get some more practice in. Perhaps you will have to dance with only me tonight.” 

Laurent leaned into the hand at his back. With the encouragement, it wrapped entirely around Laurent's torso, warm and firm.

"Perhaps I will."

When they parted for the night, it was with a kiss on the cheek and plans to meet in the stable at noon the following day.

**Author's Note:**

> Damen definitely brings a picnic with them on their ride the next day - and he makes sure to pack extra sweetmeats, of course.
> 
>  
> 
> [Come talk with me on tumblr!](http://thecaptiveroyals.tumblr.com/)
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